A Place for Harry
by stardivarius
Summary: Harry had grown up in a home where he wasn't wanted. It wasn't exactly the most ideal situation for a child but Harry takes it in stride. One day he'd have a place, just for him. One-Shot. AU.


_i._

Six-year-old Harry Potter was a small boy for his age but even small boys can good helpers too. He rubbed his sweaty forehead with the back of his soil-covered hand and raised an eyebrow at his handiwork. He'd managed to pull out at least six giant weeds from his Aunt's prize-winning garden. Left for much longer, he was certain Aunt Petunia's favourite rose bush would no longer exist. Harry licked his sunburnt-dry lips and swallowed a sigh. _It was hot today_.

"After you weed the garden, you may have a glass of water and the food left out on the countertop," Aunt Petunia said roughly. She shut the door with loud bang, shutters snapping, and haughtily retreated inside. She poked her head out again just as Harry had gotten up to stretch his aching muscles. "Be quick about it!"

Harry flinched and nearly threw himself on the mud to yank out the last of the weeds. Luckily he was on the home stretch, he didn't need much more time. From the corner of his eye, he made sure Aunt Petunia was safely inside before he held the garden hose up to his mouth for a well-deserved gulp of water. It was lukewarm but it would keep his stomach full enough to tide him over for the rest of the day.

As Harry trudged back into the house, he noticed his pillow covers and a few of his hand-me-down clothes arranged in a pathway to the kitchen. Harry frowned and wiped his upper lip with his grimy shirt sleeve making a mental note to pick those up later. Aunt Petunia had been serious about the path-thing after all. Harry shrugged.

Making his way to the spotless kitchen, he spied a saucer holding a piece of end-of-the-bag Turkish bread, some packets of orange cheese squares and a plastic cup of Uncle Vernon's leftover morning cuppa. Harry grinned. He loved Turkish bread – the ends were the best part! – and had learnt to savour the sickly sweet of his Uncle's breakfast drink. So long as he spent no more than five minutes in the kitchen alone, he was permitted to use whatever he needed. Harry set to work on his meagre dinner.

He'd melted the artificial cheese on the stale bread and topped it with a handful of roughly torn spinach, some chopped spring onion and cubed carrots that he'd nicked out of the salad bowl. He was sure it wouldn't be missed because Aunt Petunia hadn't noticed this ritual for years. He also remembered to heat up the tea in a mug this time. Whilst his meal was in the microwave he quickly set three places at the Dursley dining table. He doubled checked to make sure that he laid out Dudley's favourite knife and fork, Aunt Petunia's wine glass and Uncle Vernon's extra saucer, pausing an extra second to make sure he'd gotten everything right. When he was younger he'd always bollocksed up setting the table. Now he was a professional.

Harry was having a feast in his cupboard. His clothes were neatly folded in a small pile at the foot of his thin futon. He smiled at his well-loved rabbit and reverently placed his saucer down on his lap to admire his meal. He picked up the first slice of bread and relished the wonderful taste of cheese, onion and carrot in his mouth. He took a careful sip of the hot tea and sighed happily. He knew that this would probably be the best meal he'd have for a long time. Harry ate his dinner as slowly as he could without being too late to serve the Dursleys.

…

 _ii._

An eight-year-old Harry Potter was still as scrawny as his younger counterpart but he swiftly earned a reputation for being the fastest runner in his entire school, faster even than the far stronger year sixes. He had no other choice to be if he wanted to get away from his much bigger cousin and his even larger friends that all participated in a vicious game called 'Harry Hunting'. It mostly consisted of Harry hiding, if caught, Harry would be promptly beaten black and blue for his existence. It only strengthened Harry's legs.

Harry shrugged as he positioned himself more comfortably in the enormous English Yew in the largely undiscovered pasture a few streets from the Dursley home. It was quiet and occasionally old Mrs Polkiss – Piers Polkiss', Dudley's close friend, grandmother – that lived at the end of the street brought him a glass of milk and a few stale biscuits in exchange for a conversation. But this afternoon, Harry was reading a book about a group of schoolboys being stranded on an island. It was one of a large collection that he'd found being thrown out by the local op-shop one day. It was his best discovery yet. He'd even been allowed to take the whole box home with him – with some help from the shopkeeper's kind apprentice. Harry had painstakingly hidden his beloved library in Ziploc bags he'd found at school around his neighbourhood in his most frequented hiding places. No one had found any of Harry's books yet.

Harry looked at his slightly broken Cookie Monster watch which now said quarter to five. He'd need to start walking home in a few minutes to help make dinner. Hopefully there would even be some left for him.

…

 _iii._

Ten-year-old Harry Potter was the fastest runner in his entire suburb. A fact made known by Harry and Dudley's classmates. Aunt Petunia had (grudgingly) allowed her nephew to attend track and field events and races if it meant less time with Lily's monster. It made Harry a very happy little boy.

Without Dudley or any of Dudley's gang, Harry was free to finally make his own friends. But it was an unspoken agreement between little girls and boys that they were only friends at training. Harry could hardly contain his excitement.

It was a bitterly cold English winter morning and Harry had walked to his primary school with a skip in his step. Today was to be the trials for the school athletics team. Harry fervently hoped to be selected. He had trained hard over the holidays and was sure that his Coach would be proud of his dedication. Harry had double checked to make sure that he packed a bruised apple, some of the biscuits saved from his beloved Mrs Polkiss and a large bottle of water. He was so excited!

Harry had to contain himself from running to Aunt Petunia with another permission slip. He had been chosen! Coach had told Harry that he had potential to be amazing, but Harry couldn't be happier that he'd gotten picked. He walked to his hiding spot extra quick and comfortably lay on a branch to enjoy his snacks.

An hour later Harry ran home, excited to ask Aunt Petunia to sign a new permission slip. The backdoor opened with a soft click and Harry slipped inside quietly. He silently made his way to his cupboard and hid his pencils and school things in the loose floorboard. Aunt Petunia was in the kitchen and Harry could hear his cousin playing on his new console upstairs. Uncle Vernon wouldn't be home for a good hour. Harry had ample time to convince his Aunt.

Aunt Petunia was chopping bread-crusts and dumping them on a parchment-lined tray when Harry stood in front of her. Harry wordlessly handed her the form and bit his lip. He followed her beady eyes taking in her severe stare when she had finished. Harry swore he saw his Aunt's eyes soften but it disappeared as quickly as it came.

"Fancy yourself an athlete now?" Aunt Petunia asked him continuing chop. Harry took a deep breath and looked up her hopefully.

"May I join, Aunt Petunia?" He begged.

"Where do you suppose you'll get the proper shoes and clothes?" She asked him without looking up. Harry felt helpless. He'd completely forgotten about that in his excitement.

"I-I don't know, Aunt Petunia," Harry said after a few moments. Aunt Petunia regarded him for a second and glared. Harry almost flinched.

"I'll take you to the op-shop after Dudley and Vernon go to the game on Saturday. I'll handle them. You may pay me back when you're older," Aunt Petunia said with finality. Harry was so happy he was about to explode.

Harry dutifully deposited the paper into his Aunt's handbag – out of sight – and began laying out the table for dinner. He was extra careful to set Aunt Petunia's place just the way she liked it, with her chair facing the television perfectly and her favourite teaspoon for her night coffee.

Harry could hardly wait for Saturday.

…

 _iv._

Twelve-year-old Harry Potter was on summer holidays from his second year at Hogwarts. It was strange to think he was an actual wizard with magic powers and everything! It helped a great deal that he was a lot like his parents. It made Harry wonder if Aunt Petunia hated him because he reminded her of his mother. If she did, Harry made sure to always look her in the eye.

A lot had happened in his previous year at Hogwarts and possibly even more just recently. Harry would never trade it for anything. He finally had friends that he could keep! All the time!

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had been furious when Hagrid knocked the door off the hinges of their rented cabin when he was eleven. They were going to have to pay for damages. Harry was too busy being whisked away into another world that he only just realised that he didn't know how he felt about being a wizard. On one hand he had a surrogate family and friends, and on the other, he loved the completely boring and obscure existence that the Muggle world offered him. He could hardly sneeze without the rest of the Wizarding community knowing. He also missed the rush that running gave him. Which was quite silly considering he flew around on an actual broomstick.

Harry sat cross-legged on the floor of his bedroom. It used to be Dudley's second bedroom but Aunt Petunia had persuaded his Uncle to let him have it. It was probably the best present she had ever given him! There was a treasure trove of broken toys, unused books and art supplies, clothes and furniture Harry knew he'd be able to repair and reuse. The best part was that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had always bought their only son things of the highest quality. And Harry got to keep it all!

Harry picked up another Lego block under his bed. He had now amassed a collection large enough to start constructing Lego-buildings. He'd always dreamed of having his very own toys when he was younger. Better late than never though.

In order to keep his things safe, he had carefully and painstakingly pried up a few floor boards. A skill necessary to survive in the Dursley home. His Lego collection, a mixture of high quality art pens, pencils and sketch books, action figures and some dated hand-held consoles were going to be treasured for years to come. After examining his haul thoroughly, Harry happily concluded that the Legos and action figures only required some cleaning and the consoles needed their batteries replaced. Something that Harry hadn't figured out yet. The art supplies – which thrilled him – was thankfully, largely untouched. Harry meticulously arranged his collection under the now-sealed floors. Harry sighed blissfully. This was definitely going to be the best summer ever.

Harry quietly sprinted down the stairs and set the table quickly. He paused to glance at the counter and upon seeing it empty, Harry consoled himself that the toys were good enough gifts. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had given him more than enough that summer He'd drink extra water during his evening shower.

…

 _v._

Harry Potter, now aged fourteen, was quietly packing his things for his fourth year at Hogwarts. He was both relieved and excited to see his friends again. It was lonely without having anyone to talk to. He had a few questions about a book that he'd read that he needed to ask Hermione. And he was curious about how Ron's season of loyally supporting the Cannons had fared. Harry was certain that Ron's ego was bruised. He also missed Hogwarts food. He couldn't wait to have a full stomach again. Harry's stomach gurgled pitifully.

"Harry! Get down here!" Aunt Petunia simpered in a sickly sweet voice. She must have friends over, Harry mused dolefully. He ignored his tummy and scampered downstairs.

"This is the boy?" One of his Aunt's friends muttered. Harry supposed she thought she was whispering. It might have been rather hard for her to tell because of how loudly her earrings swished when she moved her head this way and that.

"Dreadful thing, does he eat?" Another put in, by way of hello. Harry tried not to glare.

"Petunia you're a saint for looking after the boy! Heaven knows I couldn't," Piers' mum added with the most insincere smile Harry had ever seen, and he'd met Rita Skeeter! Harry wondered how gentle, old Mrs Polkiss could stand such a creature in her family.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry said submissively. Aunt Petunia turned her beady glare on him and plunked a pile of saucers and half-filled teacups in his arms.

"Take these to the kitchen, boy." She said, dismissing him. The pile in his thin arms wobbled precariously. _Please don't fall, please don't fall, please don't fall,_ Harry desperately prayed. As if on cue, a particularly unstable cup, still filled with warm tea, dropped on the rug, splashing Mrs Polkiss' shoes and hideous purse. Harry bit back a grimace.

"How horrid that you have to put up with him!" the younger Mrs Polkiss shrieked in a voice like nails. Harry nearly smiled.

At exactly five-twenty-three was when the last of his Aunt's friends left. (Mrs Polkiss had been given a warm cloth for her fuss.) He called out affable "goodbye's" and "see you later's" to the women's retreating backs. He could feel Aunt Petunia glaring a hole into the back of his head. Harry shrugged. He was in too good a mood to stop.

"You may eat the leftover biscuits on the plates," Aunt Petunia said after sometime. Harry looked up at her, startled. He could swear the corners of her lips curled into a smile.

"Thank you, Aunt Petunia," Harry said. Without thinking, he asked, "Why?"

"Because Mabel Polkiss is incapable of keeping her inane comments to herself," Aunt Petunia said venomously. Aunt Petunia left the kitchen, heels clacking loudly. Harry scrubbed the inside of a mug fiercely pondering his thoughts. He puffed out a nervous laugh.

After setting the table for dinner, Harry carefully placed a cushion on his Aunt's chair – she was getting on in years and it was the least he could do, he reasoned thoughtfully. Harry wrapped his sweet bounty in a square of kitchen paper and protectively hid it in his pocket lest it be seen. The groaning staircase indicated Dudley and Uncle Vernon were noisily making their way down. Harry stepped back into the kitchen, busying himself. Harry didn't dare cross Uncle Vernon these days.

As the Dursleys sat down for their meal, Harry warily watched Aunt Petunia pause to stare at the cushion briefly. She sat and gave him a prim nod. He nearly grinned. As the Dursleys ate, Harry quietly stood off to the side of the dining table only moving when anyone needed their food sliced or served. Dudley loudly complained that there wasn't enough meat and Uncle Vernon grunted his displeasure whenever his glass emptied too quickly. Harry consoled himself with the thought of leftover soup, dinner rolls and the biscuits in his pocket. Aunt Petunia, as usual, ate her meal demurely with minimal interaction with her nephew, for which Harry was always grateful. Dudley and Uncle Vernon were incredibly hard to please as it is.

When all the dishes were cleaned, food neatly put away and kitchen spotless, did Harry make his way up to his bedroom, eager to finish packing. He stopped at his door and his jaw dropped. Harry groaned with dismay as he took in the absolute disarray his room was in. His second-hand clothes were flung everywhere, old parchment in pieces on the floor, bedsheets, pillowcase and mattress cover balled up under the bed, drawers upturned and his shoes slashed to bits. At least the floorboards seem to be intact, Harry mused glumly. As if on cue, Uncle Vernon lumbered behind him and nearly knocked Harry over.

"Clean this mess up, you ungrateful brat," Uncle Vernon growled. Without warning, he grabbed Harry by the lapels of his worn-out shirt and snarled, saliva hitting Harry's face, and shook him so roughly Harry thought he could feel his bones rattling. Harry whimpered as Uncle Vernon threw him inside the room and slammed the door so hard that the pictures hanging in the hallway shook.

Harry had no idea what to do. He had no shoes to travel in the next day. He theorised that he could walk in his socks for better protection, he might even be able to nick a pair of thongs from an unsuspecting neighbour, if he was lucky. Harry pondered his situation despondently as he gathered the last scraps of what was left of his sorry footwear. His classmates were going to laugh at him! He didn't even know where to begin trying to explain this to Hermione or Mrs Weasley. Harry sat on his uncovered mattress and pulled his knees to his chest. He didn't know how to feel.

Harry's door opened with a soft click and Aunt Petunia marched into his room and deposited a warm takeout box of food in his lap. Harry looked at his Aunt in confusion. She carefully put two steaming thermos' tea and leftover soup on the floor, another takeout box with a plastic knife and fork, bread, cured meats and Harry's favourite orange cheese slices. Harry scrunched his brows.

"You are leaving _tonight_ ," Aunt Petunia told him quietly, in a voice that bore no arguments, "Vernon is planning something… horrific. You must go quickly. I can't protect you from him anymore."

Harry stared at her, torn between surprise and sadness. She was protecting him? From his Uncle? Funny, Harry thought wryly, it couldn't be worse.

"How do I leave? I've no shoes left and my school things are in the cupboard downstairs," Harry told her, ashamed. Aunt Petunia pursed her lips, but she looked more concerned than angry.

"Listen to me," Aunt Petunia said quickly, "in your spot by the Old Yew, I've hidden a rucksack of supplies." Harry's eyes widened. _**She knew**_?!

" _How_ -how did you –?"

"Alma Polkiss was my mother's best friend. She kept an eye on you when I couldn't. Lily and I played by the Yew tree as girls," Aunt Petunia said softly and then more seriously, "Your school things are in the back garden, behind Vernon's shed. I've packed away your belongings from the floorboards, it's also outside."

Harry tried not to be surprised that she also knew about him destroying her floors. Aunt Petunia pressed a large, brown envelope into his hands. Harry ran his fingers over the coarse paper curiously.

"These are all the legal documents I've been given and what I could find for you. Your passport, ID, bank card, and a travel-card for London," She murmured as if ticking off a mental checklist, "bank account details for my world and what little I'd been given of yours, you'll need to check those in person, of course."

Harry tucked the envelope under his arm and lunged at his Aunt in a hug. She stiffened but wrapped her arms around him tightly. He felt a kiss being pressed into his head. Harry sighed happily.

"I tried to hate you but you're Lily's boy. There's nothing to hate about Lily," Aunt Petunia said into Harry's messy hair, he felt an odd wetness – _was she crying_? "You must enter the house in secret every summer for those blood protection things. We aren't home for the first week, as you know."

Aunt Petunia held him at arms' length and patted his cheek fondly. Harry found himself leaning into the touch. She quickly wiped at her cheeks and sniffled. It was a shame that they had to part on such horrible terms.

"This is goodbye, Harry," Aunt Petunia said with finality, "leave through the window."

With that, Aunt Petunia exited his room and Harry found himself scrambling to find a plastic bag to carry his food. He climbed out of his window quietly and timed his escape with his trusty Cookie Monster watch. His things were heavy, but Harry found a strange strength in his will to please his Aunt.

Harry was sitting in his tree thinking. How on earth was he supposed to travel all the way to London without using magic? He was only fourteen! The Knight Bus briefly crossed his mind but he quickly scrapped that knowing he couldn't use Neville's name again. Or his cousin's. Or even his own.

Harry breathed in the fresh summer air and popped another biscuit into his mouth. He chewed it thoughtfully and sat thinking for a few minutes. A throat cleared from below him and Harry nearly fell out of the tree.

"Whatever are you doing up there, dear boy?" Old Mrs Polkiss asked him with a familiar smile. Harry shrugged at her. The woman held up a torch and Harry took it from her with a curious tilt of his head.

"Just thinking," Harry said. "Would you be able to call a taxi for me, Mrs Polkiss?"

"Of course, child. Petunia told me I'd find you here." Mrs Polkiss said. "I've got some more biscuits for you." She held out a small tin filled with the biscuits Harry had come to love. She'd even thought to wrap them individually. (Harry would cry later when he discovered this and save the tin as a much-loved keepsake of his beloved Mrs Polkiss.)

"Thank you." Harry said quietly. Mrs Polkiss reached up to pat his jean-clad calf and then tottered off in the direction of her house. He never saw her again since that night.

…

 _vi._

A sixteen-year-old Harry Potter was still scrawny, much to his chagrin. It was ridiculous. Ron, Neville and Dean had shot up like trees, and Seamus, though not as tall, was built like a tank. To make matters worse, Hermione was now his height and so were the other girls in his year. The good thing about being so lean, Harry decided, was that he appeared taller than he really was until he stood next to his best friends. There wasn't much he could do unless he wore heeled shoes. Something he only briefly considered.

Since the night that his Aunt had spirited him away from his childhood home, he'd been to visit four times. Twice each summer. It was frequent enough to properly renew the wards he and Hermione had researched. At first, Hermione and Ron were reluctant to allow Harry to leave the safety that the Dursley home had provided. But as time went on, their attitudes changed. The Potter familial homes were some of the oldest in Wizarding Britain and laden with deadly protective wards. They were probably safer than Hogwarts, Hermione had told Harry one evening. It hadn't taken Hermione long to find the time-forgotten tomes of Potter Family history and Ron acquainted himself with the excellently stocked kitchens. Harry found his new home stifling.

Hermione and Ron supplied Harry with valuable information about both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds. Hermione had walked him through general things like shopping, banks and Muggle transport. Ron had taught Harry and Hermione about Wizarding culture, family traditions and the Ministry of Magic. Harry would have never known about

The oddest (and most grown-up) thing that Harry had to do, was sort out his banking situation. Though Ron and Hermione walked him through it, Harry was certain that the real thing was too different. He was nervous, his knees were shaking and he could feel himself sweating. Harry rolled his neck and stepped into a private office when his number was called.

When he emerged with a triumphant grin, Hermione looked at him curiously.

"Your inheritance?" She asked with a smile. Harry nodded at her excitedly. He was rich. The type of rich that was almost unbelievable.

"My parents wrote me letters, 'Mione!" Harry whispered happily. Hermione linked their elbows and guided him to Ron's favourite spot back table in the Leaky where Ron would join them later.

"You have a place to stay for the holidays, right?" She asked him after a moment. Harry chuckled wryly and took a swig of Butterbeer.

"Places."

"Say again?"

"I have places to stay for the holidays."

"Oh dear," Hermione said, "Why do these things always happen to you?"

It had taken a few days but eventually Harry managed to set up a living arrangement in one of the Potter Family properties. He'd met with a house elf who called himself the Potter Head Elf. He met business partners, property managers, landlords and the like. Harry had no idea what to do. He could barely run away let alone run a whole company. Harry found himself hiring help, left and right. Hermione pursed her lips and watched. Ron, well, Ron was running out of things that would get him out of his house. He had no idea what was going on.

"Do you miss the Dursleys?" Hermione asked him one night. Harry puffed out a disbelieving laugh.

"It's odd, but I do," Harry said with a breathy laugh. Hermione patted his knee. "Aunt Petunia was so kind to me the night I left. She might have seemed indifferent when I was young, but I learnt that she wasn't the one to fear. She always made some type of excuse to give me food, otherwise I'd have starved. Uncle Vernon must have frightened her badly if she helped me leave." Harry leaned back into the sofa, and folded his arms behind his head. Hermione looked horrified.

"Harry, that's awful!" Hermione put down her book and moved closer to him. Harry nudged her knee with his and she sighed.

"It's not completely awful. She kept me safe from the worst," Harry told her quietly. "She said that Uncle Vernon was planning something horrific. She never said what it was."

They let the quiet wash over them, eyes closed and stretched languidly. Harry glanced at his friend and huffed again.

"My childhood wasn't as horrible as it sounds, Hermione. I never really had many friends but I was the fastest runner in my entire district. I would have joined a club if I weren't a wizard. Gone to the Olympics if I could have." Harry told her quietly. Hermione smiled at his boyish dream.

"I was a gifted student. My parents had me down for Cambridge the day they got the test results back," Hermione said dryly. She elbowed Harry in the side when he guffawed. "It's not funny, Harry!"

Ron joined Harry later when he explained about Cambridge. Hermione had left in a sulk. Apparently she'd been baking because when Harry and Ron finally wandered into the kitchen, the counters were brimming with cakes, pastries, muffins and leftover ingredients. The kitchen elves were in a frenzy, a few helplessly trailing behind Hermione and cleaning messes. Harry and Ron stared in fascinated horror.

"What on earth are you doing?" Ron said finally. Hermione turned around, mixing bowl clutched in one arm and whisking furiously with the other.

"Baking," Hermione said shortly. Harry looked between his friends and shoved a nearby muffin into his mouth. His eyes watered. Was that –?

"Peas?!" Harry sputtered. Ron snatched the bowl from an irate Hermione and carefully set it on the floor. An elf picked it up and magicked it away. Hermione glared at him.

"Why've you put peas in the muffins?" Harry asked, blowing bits of muffin into a serviette. Hermione shrugged at him sadly. Harry decided that peas did not ever go into muffins.

"I was going for a savoury. It didn't work out very well," Hermione crossed her arms and looked at Harry and Ron pointedly.

"Mate, I think we should leave her alone," Ron suggested.

"You could try things that taste nice like bacon, for example," Harry said, ignoring Ron. Hermione glared at him. Harry looked at her smugly. He knew he was right. Aunt Petunia's breakfast cups were to die for.

"Oh alright."

Ron stood off to the side, watching the pair warily with the rest of the kitchen elves. Ron shrugged at the creatures and they pulled up a chair for him. Ron sat quietly for three hours as Hermione and Harry baked.

"Ron we've done it!" Hermione said waving excitedly.

She had flour on her nose, cheeks, and eyebrows and even her the backs of her knees. Harry only had it on his eyelashes. Ron looked at his best friends warily. It was at least the hundredth time she'd said that, and every single time, it followed with something that tasted terrible. They both looked like they were having the time of their lives so he didn't stop them. The house elves had actively put out three kitchen fires now, Harry was certain they wouldn't let them near the stove again.

"It tastes good this time," Harry added shoving a rather ugly muffin in Ron's face. Ron obediently took a bite and scowled. It tasted like off milk. He shuddered.

"We need to have some real food," Ron said helplessly. He had slithered down to the floor and lay there dramatically. "I'm about to die of starvation."

"I'll set the table." Harry scurried out of the kitchen clutching plates and silverware. He set two places and hung back to clean up the mess he'd help make. Hermione was much more compliant this time around and Ron was eager to finally eat.

After everything was spotless (and Hermione and Harry banned from the kitchen for the next two days) did they sit down for dinner. Harry nearly froze when he saw three places laid out neatly. Hermione pulled him into a seat and nudged a basket of dinner rolls to him, Ron already piling his plate with chicken. Harry felt oddly warm.

…

 _vii._

Harry and Hermione had been invited along to Easter brunch at The Burrow. It wasn't their first time there but it was Harry's first time celebrating Easter. He'd never heard of Easter Eggs until Hermione mentioned it. Harry had researched it as best as he could, curiosity winning him over. Hermione half-died of laughter when he told her that there was no mention of the Easter bunny in the bible. Though she was patient in her explanation, Harry didn't quite understand what this Jesus fellow had to do with rabbits. He was confused.

Luna had made sure to slip in a few puzzling but interesting comments about his research. Ron only gave him a shrug. Harry considered them anyway.

Though he was now eighteen, Mrs Weasley insisted on sending him baskets of food. Harry thought she feared him starving to death. His elves were offended at first but saved Harry his favourite things from her packages. She wasn't the only one to send him gifts. The Malfoys, Longbottoms, Greengrass', Bones', Boots, Johnsons, Changs, Diggorys, MacMillans, Abbotts, Parkinsons and Averys had all sent Harry various gifts that ranged from elaborate gift baskets to offers of future marriage. All of which, Harry had ignored.

Since Tom Riddle was gone from the Wizarding World – and a few notable others – Harry's life had somehow gotten more frenzied. He could hardly buy toothbrushes without accidentally sponsoring a particular brand. So, Harry had become a recluse.

"Oh Harry, be a dear and set the table will you?" Mrs Weasley asked. She squeezed behind him to deposit an armful of pots and pans into the rapidly filling sink. Harry gave it a quick glance and made a mental note to do it when he was free.

"Yes, Mrs Weasley." Harry said obediently. He grabbed a tablecloth, some tableware and hurried to the Weasley kitchen table. He had much fewer places to set, Fred being gone and George practically was as well, Bill and Charlie always declined invitations, Percy had gone straight back to being a Ministry drone and Ginny was always at Quidditch or travelling. The only children that came home to the Burrow weren't even Molly's, but Harry was grateful for his surrogate mother. He was sure Hermione agreed.

Harry quickly arranged plates in usual spots, filling up places that normally held people, and Mr Weasley gave him a look of grateful relief. Harry hurried back into the kitchen to help with the food and they all sat down for the meal. Hermione and Ron looked between each other and shared a secret grin. Harry had remembered to set a place for himself this year. Though it had taken nearly a decade, Harry finally had a place. He would always miss the strange relationship he had with his Aunt, he knew he'd paid her back somehow.

"Let's eat!" Ron yelled.

And they did.

 _Fin._

…


End file.
